When a Simple I Love You Just Cannot Do
by DnKS-giRLs
Summary: America always thought that he was a hero and a hero should be able to do everything, including proposing the love of his life. Yet Fate seemed not to agree with the notion and America found how his every attempt was thwarted awesomely.
1. Chapter 1

*******

**Title**: When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author**: DnKS – giRLs

**Rating**: PG

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: America and England

**Disclaimers**: The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning**: General sap

**Note**: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 1**

It was on a perfectly fine and nothing-out-of-the-sort Wednesday afternoon that America found himself walking through the busy streets. His eyes were busy watching the goods being displayed on the shop windows. He had a light frown on his forehead and the expression he wore told the world with a very clear voice just how distressed he was. Every once in a while, he would bit his lower lip in deep contemplation before shaking his head slowly.

"That won't do," he said softly.

And with a sigh, he would leave the shop which display he had eyed for quite a while and move on. It was curious to note that every shop he visited showed some jewelry, most notably rings, on their windows. And it was also curious to note how America seemed to assess each and every ring he could find on display before he moved on to another shop. It was most curious, indeed, but those people crowding the plaza with him that time had their own business to take care of. So, they gave him little to no interest. And that suited America just fine. After all, he did not need people's interest on him when he was busy trying to find the best engagement ring for England.

He groaned at the thought.

It still felt surreal for him. As a matter of fact, if he did not know better, he would have thought that someone surely had slipped something into his drink until he could come to his current predicament. It was ridiculous when he thought about his situation. For years, he had been together with England, and yes, America admitted that he loved him. But never did he think to propose to him before. It was an idea that seemed to come out of nowhere and, frankly, he did not know what caused that.

"Just great…" he mumbled in half annoyance as he observed another ring—a platinum band with three perfectly set diamonds at the center. "Just why the hell am I thinking about proposing England, anyway?"

He did not expect any response to his randomly sprouted sentence, so when an amused 'I beg your pardon?' reached his ears, he found himself nearly jumping in surprise.

With several curses flying in his mind, America turned his head and came face to face with France. He blanched. Of all the people and nations, why had it to be France who caught him red handed?

"Good day, my friend, such a lovely weather we have now, am I right?" France greeted him with a wink, a well-placed brief kiss to his cheek, and the usual ass groping. America was quite proud of himself for sustaining his unmanly 'eep'. But he could not really manage to hold back a nervous twitch as France continued with, "And of course, it's a perfect day to shop for some… ah, engagement ring?"

He eyed France cautiously. "What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to change the direction of their conversation.

"This is my place, for a start, the beautiful city of Paris." France said with a light frown. "And you, my friend, just walked through the streets mumbling something about 'proposing to England'."

He managed a nervous chuckle and said, "You heard no such thing."

It was somewhat funny how the universe worked. When a man told the world that he never cheated on his bookkeeping, more often than not, some guy in crisp suits and very thin watch would narrow their eyes at him and made sure to check his financial records in a way that made ants seemed like a bunch of lazy buggers. But if the same man announced to his friends that he had managed to hack into the security system of the Bank of Swiss and robbed a good deal of money, more often than not, his friends would pat his shoulder and offer him a cup of tea to calm his nerves down.

So it was not really strange that, after hearing America's statement, France suddenly sported a very huge and mischievous grin.

"You _do_ want to propose to him!" he exclaimed.

"Shut up! France, just… shut up!" America whispered harshly as he looked around him in suspicion. "You want the entire world to hear you or what? Fuck…"

"Hey, easy there," France said. He even had the nerve to chuckle as if he was highly amused. Yet when America reviewed their current situation, perhaps it was not so weird after all if France was to get amused. That guy (or nation) practically got his enjoyment from others' predicament it seemed.

"Calm down, would you, I wouldn't do anything bad," France said even though America really doubted the sincerity of his words. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Have you no faith in me, America?"

"I don't think I need to answer that," America said warily.

France merely clucked his tongue. "You youngsters are so suspicious toward others. I merely want to extend my hand of friendship and offer you my help for your… quest."

The way France said it, America thought, could go very well on the face of the devil trying to seduce men into sin. It was thus understandable that he gave France a critical glance.

"I don't need your help," America said. "Besides, why must I ask for your help? And why must you help me?"

"Ah. But I am the country of love, am I not?" France said with a meaningful wink. A dove perching on a tree near them chanced to see the wink and promptly fell to the ground—not really dead, but with a terrible case of love sickness. "Surely this matter is something of my interest."

"Ha. Shut it, France," America said. "I can do well on my own."

He tried to walk away, but France grabbed his shoulder and forced to him look straight into his eyes. America could only gulp. For, though he did not know what had caused it, France really did look serious, so very serious without a hint of teasing on his face when he simply asked.

"Can you, really?"

America blinked rapidly. "What?"

"Can you really do well on your own?" France clarified. "You should pardon my doubt on you because I honestly cannot think of you as someone who excels in the matter of romance."

"W-well, of course I can do well, I'm a…"

"Stop with that 'hero' thing for a moment and listen to me, would you?" France cut him off halfway. "This is a serious matter. I think you also realize that part quite well. You want things to go smoothly but can you do that on your own? I don't think so. So you need help, my help, and I'm more than glad to provide you with it."

America could not say anything as his response to France's words. He only looked at the other with a somewhat lost expression until France let out a sigh.

"Why are we talking about this on the street in a purely plebeian fashion?" he asked no one in particular. "Come with me. Let's continue this conversation in a more civilized fashion over some tea and pastries."

It was not really clear, at least in America's opinion, how a moment later they already found themselves seated around a table in some small but sophisticated café. A cup of coffee was placed in front of him, along with some raspberry tarts. And France was leaning on his chair opposite him, smiling, really smiling, not smirking or sneering, but smiling.

"This is surreal," America said, being blunt like usual.

"Well, I do think hearing you proclaiming your intention to propose to England in the broad daylight is also surreal," France said. "So, touché."

America bit his lip in confusion before he said. "I mean… it's not like you to be so intent on giving me help."

"The point is, it's not about you," France said. "But it's about love, can't you see?"

Truth be told, America could not 'see'. His expression might very well show it for he could hear France trying to explain his point further.

"Let me explain it. You love… flying, don't you, America?" France asked and America nodded. "So, let's just say there's this plane you love so much, a bomber plane or something with ridiculous design the way you love it. The thing is you love this plane and you know the great things she could do. Then enter this novice pilot, a naïve and eager young boy. He shares your love in flying but he is still a novice and you see him manhandling this beloved plane of yours. Surely you cannot bear the sight, so what would you do? You step forward and show him the 'right' way, correct?"

America blinked, "Well, of course…"

"Then it's no different from my case," France said. "Love and romance is my greatest passion. And you are a novice in this kind of thing. So I merely show you the rope to prevent you from tarnishing the most revered name of romance. If I let you to your own device, you would probably just shove your ring to England and say something along the line of 'say, I love you, how about we get married', am I right?"

Refusing to answer France's question—because somehow America thought that could be the way he would do the whole proposing thing after all—America let out a huff and said somewhat tensely, "Yeah, but I'm going to… propose… to England and I don't think you… have more knowledge on that matter than I do."

"And this is where you go wrong," France said. "I do have more knowledge on this whole proposing thing in general _and_ proposing England in particular. Why? First, I have been living longer than you. Second, am I not the country of love? Third, I have proposed to England once myself. So, yes, I have the experience."

America decided to ignore all of France's statement except for the 'I have proposed to England once myself' and he very nearly slammed his hands onto the table. He managed to restrain himself from doing that, but he did not quite manage to restrain himself from shouting out loud.

"You have what?!"

"Would you please lower our voice?" France cringed. "Everyone here can hear you, and unless you want to make a scene, I suggest you calm yourself and try speaking more quietly."

America grumbled a little, but he did calm himself down after that. He personally thought it was justified for him to shout out loud. It was shocking, to think that France had once been in his position, trying to ask England to marry him…

…but, wait. England was never married to France, he thought, that would mean…

"He rejected you," America said without really holding the childish glee back from his voice. "So much for the country of love. England rejected your proposal. Ha!"

"It's neither here nor there," France admonished. "It was supposed to be a political marriage after all. The fact that he rejected my advance only meant that our political agenda differed too much back then. It's different from your case. Or… is it not? Are you merely trying to wed England for the benefit of your country? Is this something that your boss asked you to do?"

"No! Gosh! I mean… no!" America said hastily. "It's nothing to do with my… my nation or politics or my boss. I just… want to… you know!"

"You just want to tell him how much you love him," France said.

"…yes."

"Sweet, America. Very sweet," France said. "But sometimes, a simple 'I love you' just cannot do."

America, forever a stubborn brat he was, grumbled. "And why is that?"

"Think about it. Marriage is a big thing, you understand," France said in the tone that made America feel like he was a child being lectured. "England is perhaps not the most sophisticated person out there but you have to admit he's quite a high class—now, don't tell him that. Do you think he would appreciate it if you just go 'let's get married'? What you need, America, is romance. It's a basic need."

"I am romantic enough."

"Yes, romantic in the way you ask him out to fast food restaurants, spend your time alone with him by playing video game, and think that good sex overcomes all trouble," France said with a dejected sigh. "Which is perhaps fine, each for their own taste, but at least you need to give more thought when you are going to propose. It means you asking the other to spend their life with you, to love you only, to be yours. It deserves to be something memorable, something magnificent."

Sometimes, more often than not, France could sound like some pervert who put too much of his mind into things that he called love and passion and romance. But sometimes, though really not that often in America's opinion, France could also sound so sensible. Just like how it was that time. Though America was loath to admit it, France did sound somewhat sensible and he started to give his words some consideration.

Not that he was going to tell him that, of course.

"Think about it," France said. Then he reached to his jacket pocket to retrieve a square card and hand it to America. "And if you still find no luck in finding some engagement ring, go there. That place has the best jewelry you can ask for."

America eyed the card suspiciously, but accepted it nonetheless. Strange as it was, their conversation continued, yet never once did France bring up the issue of his proposal anymore. They talked about things that they often talked about in their usual conversation, with much bickering and bantering. And when they parted ways, America still could not decide if France was merely trying to mess with his brain or if indeed he was trying to help like what he had declared.

He stared at the piece of paper that France gave him. On it was written a name of a shop along with its address. He gave the paper his most scrutinizing glare before he snorted.

It was three hours afterward that America exited that certain shop which address was written in elegant script on the small card that France gave him. In his hand, he clutched a small velvet box containing what he intended to be his engagement ring for England. And in his head, he had begun thinking of what France had said. He thought about England. He thought about his decision to ask England to be his forever. He thought about how much he loved England.

He then thought about France's lecture and decided that it would not hurt trying to incorporate some 'romance' into his proposal. Yet, it was most unfortunate that France's and America's idea of romance differed so very much from each other.

**End Chapter 1**

(**A/N: **So this is the end of the first chapter. We hope you enjoy your ride so far. If you don't it's not too late to cancel your ride. Thank you for reading and, like always, we expect to see you again next chapter. Any comment would be much appreciated so please do not hesitate to leave us your review.)


	2. Chapter 2

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**Title**: When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author**: DnKS – giRLs

**Rating**: PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: America and England

**Disclaimers**: The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning**: General sap

**Note**: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 2**

America always thought of himself as a hero. Perhaps not merely a hero, but _the_ hero. He was someone who could give 'because I am the United States of America' as his justification for anything he did, either good or bad. It was his multi-purpose reason, and it had served him good for years already.

When he went to war, he would go with perfect confidence of winning the war. And the reason for his confidence, he would say, was 'because I'm the United States of America!'.

When some nations demanded the reason for his oil embargo, he would only wave his hand half-heartedly. Of course he could do the embargo, he would say, he could do anything 'because I am the United States of America!'.

When people doubted his dubious international policy, he would only shrug his shoulders and tell them that they should not worry. The plan would go smoothly, he would say, 'because I am the United States of America!'.

Keeping those things in mind, one could sum up several things. The first one was that America was proud. Second, America was uncreative with his words. Third, and this might be the most important one, America was an immature idiot.

For the record, America admitted the first one, kinda let the second one pass with some complaints (a real hero doesn't need large vocabulary!), but he never really acknowledged the third. Thus, it was somewhat understandable why America never really asked help from others. He was too proud to do it. He was too uncreative to think about it. He was too immature to ask for anyone's help and too much of an idiot to use the help offered to him.

More often than not, that was the case. But once in a blue moon, he could be enough of a gentleman (and during those times, somehow, he could picture England in his mind snorting condescendingly at him) to admit that, yes, there were people better than him in certain areas and, yes, he needed their help.

That night's moon was a normal moon, kinda round-ish, but not blue in any way whatsoever. Yet, that night America finally decided that perhaps he should heed France's so-called advice and follow his so-called words of help. He was still a hero, he thought to himself as some kind of reassurance, but sometimes a hero also needs help. And France had some sense in his words. France had lived longer than him. France was the one that had been dubbed worldwide as 'the country of love'. And France had—he steeled himself but still could not help a small shudder—tried proposing to England before.

So, yes, he was willing to give France's advice a chance. Romance, the man had told him, was a basic need. And somehow when America thought of 'Romance' and 'England' in a sentence, he came up with 'Shakespeare'.

For another record, yes, America admitted that he could do with some help once in a while, but he still refused to acknowledge that he was an idiot, much less an immature idiot.

"Yeah," he said to himself, grinning wide. "It's show time!"

Truthfully, America had never really liked Shakespeare. It seemed the man put so much more effort into long and windy dialogues when he could have filled those slots with some action scenes. But England seemed to love him. England still thought that Shakespeare's classics were precious and everlasting. America, though, felt that if he needed more than five attempts at reading on a dialogue before he understood its meaning, then the story was not really that great.

But people's tastes might vary. England, for once, loved Shakespeare. And America loved England. It was enough reason for him to go that night, armored with a rope and some rocks, and began climbing a great tree outside England's room. The velvet box containing the engagement ring he was about to give to England was secure in his pocket.

It was a good thing that he had a good physique so that climbing up that tree was not a big issue for him. He chose the branch that would bring him closer to England's bedroom window and sat there. He judged the distance between him and the window, carefully took aim, and, with some wish for luck, threw one of the rocks he brought with him at the window.

The rock hit the window with a small 'clink' but no reaction came from the occupant of that room. America tried again, and the same thing happened.

"Wake up, you lazy old man," he gritted his teeth as he threw another rock with a bit more force. "Juliet was up instantly when Romeo climbed up her balcony! How can I serenade you if you're sleeping?"

Yes. That was his brilliant idea for the night. Climbing England's balcony to serenade him some sweet nothings. That sounded like a splendid plan in his head even though he actually found nothing so pleasing in the idea of getting woken up in the middle of the night only to hear someone babbling nonsense to him. But Romeo managed to catch Juliet's heart that way. And had Romeo never met Juliet before? If two people who only met once could get together—and managed to have what was called the greatest love story in history—that way, America was sure he could perfectly capture England's heart by employing the same strategy.

If only the 'Juliet' in question could wake up, of course.

"Oh, come on!" America nearly shouted, throwing the last of his rocks with enough force to rattle the window. But the window remained intact, not even scratched. And America began to think if England's house had bulletproof windows. That would surely explain why throwing rocks at them had little to no effect.

Damn, he thought, perhaps he should just fire the window to make sure.

His supply of rocks already empty, America reached to his gun that he kept in his holster. The pistol was a familiar weight in his hand and there was no hesitation in him as he raised it. Taking aim, he then shot fire to England's window and watched the impact.

Logically, the window broke.

America blinked in surprise as he watched the glass of England's bedroom window broken by the bullet. He nearly screamed 'no way' as he watched the shattered pieces of glass flying from the single bullet hole. Bullet proof windows were not supposed to break like that, he reasoned. But…

…what was it that made him so sure that England's windows were bullet proof, anyway?

America had not enough time to ponder his question because just seconds after the window was broken, a string of angry curses was heard coming from the inside of the room. A flash of light soon followed and with a loud crash, America finally found the object of his affection up and awake, showing his face as he fully opened his bedroom window. Only, much different from Juliet who greeted his Romeo with love stricken smile and beautiful appearance, England decided to show up in his pajama, with his legendary pissed-off expression fixed firmly on his face, and a revolver held tightly in his extended hand.

"Who the fuck among you sodding jerks did that just now?" he demanded angrily. "I swear by the name of God and the Queen I'll have your head in a… America?"

America gave a small nervous laugh as he held tightly onto the branch of the tree. He gulped and watched England assessed him with his eyes. It was strange, but the image of England getting all angry with his revolver ready to fire looked so sexy in his eyes. He was stunned, so very much until he could not utter any word.

"What in the bloody hell are you…" England tried to say before his expression hardened. "Are you the one just blowing up my window?"

"Er, about that… England…" he said nervously. "I can somehow explain…"

A loud bang was heard and America found that England had just taken fire. He flinched as he viewed the damage that shot left in its wake. The bullet landed on the branch of the tree he was holding on, so very close to his hand that America was not really sure if England promptly missed, or if it was simply his luck that had enabled him to escape the fate of being shot.

"I won't miss next time," England said dangerously with a smirk so evil that America found it was most disconcerting to see on the face of someone whom he was supposed to admit his undying love to. "You got some nerve, boy, blowing up my window, waking me up in the middle of the night, rebelling against me, _being independent from the Great British Empire_. You good for nothing, ingrate brat!"

"Wait, England, I think you kinda mix things up," he tried desperately. "I've been independent for hundreds of years now if…"

"Shut up and try to explain your reason or I shall curse you to next century," England said threateningly.

"How can I explain myself if you told me to shut up?" America shouted. Things were not going like what he had predicted. And judging from England's expression, it seemed he would not appreciate any attempt of serenading in the near future.

"Don't try to be smart, young man."

"I don't! I mean…" America raked his hand through his hair in frustration. "I… uh, thought your windows are bullet proof…"

"And that's enough reason to blow my window up?" England's voice roared in the otherwise silent night. "You woke me up in the middle of the night to test your ludicrous theory?"

"I didn't… dammit, England!" he shouted. So much for wanting to express his love. How could he even confess his feeling when they both were shouting at each other? How could he admit his love when England was still holding that revolver to his direction?

But he was a hero, America thought and took some courage from the thought. He was a hero and a hero was supposed to be able to withstand anything. So he gathered up all his courage and determination. He pulled himself up straighter and reached for the box in his pocket. Staring right into England's eye, he began speaking in serious tone.

"England, I…"

America only managed that far before the branch under his feet cracked and finally snapped. With a brief flashing thought of 'oh, fuck' in his mind, he found himself falling to the ground. He fancied himself of seeing England's worried expression watching his fall, but it could very well be only the result of his wishful imagination. Yet he was sure as hell that the pain he felt in his limbs and back once he hit the ground was not only his imagination. Cursing France, Shakespeare, and the frail English tree to abomination, America finally surrendered to the tempting voice of unconsciousness and closed his eyes.

So much for merely trying to practice romance.

**End Chapter 2**

(**A/N:** real fast update? Of course. Tell you a secret, this fic is actually already finished so the speed of our update pretty much just depends on how fast we're able to do the final edit (and how much real life succeeds in distracting us). Thank you for reading this chapter. We hope you have a good time reading this fic and, like always, reviews are very much appreciated.)


	3. Chapter 3

*******

**Title**: When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author**: DnKS – giRLs

**Rating**: PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: America and England

**Disclaimers**: The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning**: General sap

**Note**: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 3**

The first thing that America realized when he came to his senses was the throbbing pain on his left ankle and wrist. The second thing he realized was the soft and comfortable surface he was lying on. And the third thing was the feeling of someone treading their fingers gently amidst his hair.

He opened his eyes with a groan. The sight that welcomed him was that of a certain someone with vivid green eyes frowning at him. That certain someone also happened to be the one whose fingers were running through his hair. And that certain someone also happened to be England.

With that, the event of the previous night replayed in America's mind. His eyes widened, whether from mortification or embarrassment he could not decide. And when he observed England's frown, America became aware that he was far from being amused.

"You are bloody fortunate," England said with his aristocratic haughty tone that he reserved to scold someone who did something incredibly stupid within his premise. That time, the so called 'someone who did something incredibly stupid' happened to be America. "To fall from that distance and only suffered some bruises without any fractured bones. Thankfully, I still possess a heart to haul you into my guest room after your fantastic fall in my garden. Thankfully, I can ring my doctor in the middle of the night to examine your injuries. Thankfully, your injuries are pretty light and not life-threatening."

America had enough decency to look a bit sheepish. But it was not his fault, he tried to reason in his mind. Who might know that the tree was so frail anyway? Romeo never fell from the tree when he climbed Juliet's balcony. If there was someone, or something, to be blamed, America thought, it had to be that piece of story which somehow failed to mention some warning about the frailty of some trees.

"Just what did you try to accomplish, anyway?" England asked him sharply. Yet, America noted with no little amount of amusement, England still ran his fingers in a soothing motion through his hair. "Climbing my dear old tree in the middle of the night and shooting bullet to my window only to fall afterward? I know that you're an idiot but this is something incredibly stupid even by your standard."

It was a simple inquiry, yet America found it to be so hard to answer. The real answer to that question could be explained by the presence of that velvet box in his jeans pocket. But somehow, telling England 'I tried to propose to you' at that kind of time and place did not really sound so brilliant in his head. He wanted his proposal to be meaningful. He wanted it to be impressive and awesome, because he was America and everything he did was impressive and awesome. Admitting his undying love to England while he was lying on England's couch with injured ankle and wrist after falling from his tree was surely not something that can go for the definition of impressive, much less awesome.

So America gulped and managed a nervous chuckle.

"…I wanted to visit you?" he tried.

England had his eyes narrowed. A sure sign that he did not buy it. "In the middle of the night?"

"I, uh, forgot about the time difference," America said. Somehow being considered as some idiot who could not even remember the time differences across nations helped.

"That doesn't explain why you shot my window," England said.

"I tried to wake you up," America said. At least it was not a lie. "I tried with rocks, but… your window seemed tough and somehow I thought they were bullet proof and… yeah… you know the rest."

"Why did you even try to wake me up?" England asked. "You have the key to my place. I gave it to you years ago."

"I forgot to bring my key."

"If you forgot your key, you can just ring my doorbell."

"I… uh, forgot."

"Or you can even give me a call."

"Er… yeah. I forgot."

"Honestly, you…" England sighed as he tapped America's forehead gently with his forefinger. "If your head is not attached to your body I wouldn't doubt you would forget it one day."

America could only mutter a brief thanks in his heart because England apparently was buying his lie, or semi-lie. He tried to get up and found out that if he did it really carefully, he could move his body without causing much pain to either his wrist or ankle. Soon he was sitting up on England's couch, with England himself sat on his side.

"So, um," he began. "I guess… sorry for breaking your window. And thanks for taking care of my injuries."

England stared at him quizzically. "Did you hit your head terribly hard or something? I admit I did not really put much thought on your head when I tend to your wounds."

"Why do I have the feeling that you just said something not nice about me but I can't really know what is it?" he said. Then he took notice on England's attire and frowned. "And why are you so dressed up so early in the morning?"

England's eyes followed America's, assessing his crisp black suit that spelled out 'serious business' with every fiber of its being.

"I have a meeting with my boss to prepare the documents for the next world's meeting," England said before his eyes narrowed. "You do remember that next week we're going to hold the annual world's meeting at your place, don't you?"

It was perhaps idiotic, but America always believed that England was some kind of a mind-reader. Ever since his early days, England could always tell if he lied or if he hid things from him. And that eerie ability seemed not to leave him even after years had passed. So it really should not have surprised him when he could only think of 'awh, crap' before England let out an exasperated sigh.

"You forgot," he said. "Oh, well, I should have guessed. Considering that you are the same person who has blown up my window because he simply forgot about the thing called door bell."

"Hey," America pouted. "Why are you so hung up about that window? I already said sorry."

There was a smile on England's face when he fondly ruffled America's hair and dropped a kiss to his forehead. "I know. And I appreciate that."

"What's that?" America said playfully. He reached out his uninjured hand and gently grabbed the back of England's neck. Pulling England's face closer to his, he then kissed England firmly on his lips. The kiss was brief, but it was enough to place a smile on America's lips when he ended it.

"That's how you kiss someone good morning," he grinned. He moved his hand until he managed to loop his arm around England's waist loosely. "Say, is there any way so that you can skip your meeting and spend your time with me?"

"No," England said sternly, though he was also smiling. "Stop being such an unreasonable spoilt brat."

"Says the one who's spoiling me," he countered.

"America, honestly," England sighed. "I really need to go, okay? You can help yourself to breakfast and before you ask it, yes, I still keep some coffee for you in my kitchen cabinet. I know you cannot start your day without coffee, much as I loathe that stuff. But afterward, you should go rest. Your injuries might not be grave, but you still need some time to recover."

"Shouldn't you help nursing me back to health?" he asked with what he hoped was an innocent smile.

"Oh, quit that act. That has stopped being effective on you centuries ago," England said. His gaze then turned a notch gentler when he placed his hands on America's shoulders. "I'll see if I can go home early today then we can spend some time together, alright? Before that, you just stay here and don't you ever dare trying to go back just yet with that kind of injuries."

"Wouldn't want to go back just yet before I get what I want when I decided to visit you," America rectified.

"And what is that?"

"You."

"You should thank heaven that you are injured or I would not be held responsible for what I could have done to you," England said. His cheeks sported a hint of flush that made America feel absurdly proud of himself. "Honestly, have you been around France too much lately?"

"Er…" America mumbled, not quite willing to admit that yes, actually, the whole climbing tree fiasco was due to his having a certain conversation with France several days back. Luckily England seemed not expecting any answer to his question. With one last kiss, he disentangled himself from America's one armed embrace and walked to retrieve his black briefcase.

"I have to go now," he said. "Be a good boy when I'm away, would you?"

America chuckled. "This feels nostalgic. I can almost be sure that you would do something like upping my tax the next time I see you again."

"Git," England said fondly, the last time before he exited his front door. America waved him goodbye with a smile. But once the door was closed, once England had left the house, once there was once again silence, America dropped his smile and let his palm collide with his forehead with a well sounding smack as he muttered, "Fuck!"

Stupid Shakespeare, he thought. Stupid tree. Stupid France. Why did he have to fall? Why did the branch have to break when he was going to propose to England? Why the universe was so cruel to him? Had he done something really bad to make the universe angry? Though when America thought about it, he was suddenly being reminded of his past deeds and somehow he could hear China lecturing him sternly about karma.

He cursed and his eyes wandered to England's kitchen. He knew he should have some breakfast but the event of the previous night left him with a sour mood that even the prospect of food did not really seem so alluring. But perhaps some cup of coffee was in order. He could do with some caffeine. Maybe his head would be clearer after he got his daily dose of coffee.

With that thought in mind, America walked to England's kitchen carefully. His ankle still gave a slight pain when he walked, but it was nothing really bad. Thankfully it was nothing bad, or he would surely dump countless cans of pesticide to England's tree as his act of revenge. That tree had not only intervened with his proposing, it also caused him some painful injuries. Or perhaps it was enough reason after all to kill that tree with pesticide, America thought childishly. Then for the umpteenth time that day, he thought: stupid tree.

He made his coffee with a bad mood. But when the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee reached his nose, he felt somewhat calmer. And though he knew England would scoff at him for it, he honestly felt that the pain lessened a bit after he already drank his coffee.

In minutes, he already sat in England's kitchen and happily slurped his coffee. A really great invention, coffee was. He just could not get it why England was so insistent on tea until he could miss such a great thing like coffee.

And then he caught the sight of the coffee box and frowned.

And then he made out the word 'caramel macchiato' and he grinned.

Fishing his cell phone out of his jeans pocket—thank God that thing was not broken after the fall—he dialed a number. He listened to the dial tone for a while before he heard a single click, telling him that his call was connected.

"Hello, Italy," he said to his phone. "Listen, could you help me out with something? Yes. This is America. I'm wondering if you could tell me a thing or two about…ah, wedding proposal. And no, this is not for me, of course."

**End Chapter 3**

(**A/N:** yes, so this is the third chapter and already you can see why we put 'sap' as our warning. Thank you for following this fic until this far, and if you're a new reader, why, welcome then. Hope the amount of sugar did not cause you any cavities or the like. Thank you for reading and, like always, reviews would be very much appreciated.)


	4. Chapter 4

*******

**Title**: When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author**: DnKS – giRLs

**Rating**: PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: America and England

**Disclaimers**: The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning**: General sap

**Note**: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 4**

America was not paranoid.

Really, he was not. It was true that he faced such troublesome time lately. And it was also true that some of his people tend to be overly wary, especially over a term like 'terrorists'. But he was not paranoid. He merely kept his awareness to make sure nothing was amiss. A hero was never paranoid. A hero was merely being cautious and watchful just like how every hero should.

Therefore, what he did to ensure that he and England could have a perfect romantic dinner was not done because he was paranoid. He merely wanted everything to be perfect. And surely no dinner plan could be 'perfect' if there was some bombing threat or fire-raising or whatever.

He cleared his throat as he checked his reflection in the mirror. He himself thought that he looked more than okay, dashing even. He just hoped that England would also think so (but of course England would think so, he was America!). And for the last time, he checked the velvet box containing the engagement ring that he always carried with him before he exited his house and drove to one of the most luxurious restaurants in town.

A simple romantic dinner, that was what Italy had suggested as his idea of proper wedding proposal. It sounded reasonable enough (and by reasonable, he meant that he had seen the scene of 'proposing-with-a-romantic-candle-lit-dinner' being played in numerous movies so he could safely assume it was the right way to go). So he promptly planned the whole diner thing carefully, intent on making it perfect for England. He had searched for the best restaurant in town. He had made sure that the restaurant had agreeable menu and ambiance according to England's taste. He had made sure that the restaurant was situated in a strategic place, that it was safe, that if indeed the situation turned for the worse, the Secret Service would not have a hard time reaching the place. He had made sure so everything would go smoothly and it would be perfect.

And no, America did not suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

It was on that day, the last day of that year's world's conference, that America decided to execute his plan. Considering that it was the last day of the conference, thus rendering all of them with a night somewhat free of work, America thought it was the perfect time to ask England out for dinner. It was easy enough asking England out, but as time ticked by and the time of their 'date' grew nearer, America found himself becoming more anxious than ever. And when he parked his car on the parking lot, he realized that his palms were sweaty.

"This is ridiculous," he said to himself as he tried to calm himself down before he entered the restaurant that was supposed to be their rendezvous place. "It's not like this is my first date with him."

Yes, but he never tried to ask England to marry him in any of their dates before, a voice in his head reminded him. He tried hard to crush that voice and reminded himself that he was the fucking United States of America. With that, he walked bravely into the restaurant.

But when he arrived at their reserved table and saw England in his evening suit, somehow his anxiety came back in full force. He scowled and promptly sat on his seat, trying hard to look nonchalant, but damn England for being so observant. He knew those green eyes were watching him even when he tried so hard not to meet their gaze. He knew England was busy assessing him even when he pretended to give his whole interest to the waiter who politely placed a glass of water and a menu before him.

He really thought that England was some kind of a mind reader sometimes.

"Something is bothering you," England said after the waiter left their table, straight to the point without any pleasantries. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing! I'm fine!" he said quickly. Then, trying to amend the situation, he hurriedly steered the conversation to another topic. "It's nice to have dinner together like this, right? Ahaha… it's been so long since I asked you out."

"Actually I'm a bit surprised," England said. His eyes seemed to consider their surrounding before he continued, "When you asked me to have dinner with you, I was so sure we would go to some fast food restaurant or something like that."

"Um," America said. Inwardly, he cringed. "Yeah… sometimes, I want to ask you out to have… a proper dinner."

England's brow rose in inquiry. "Proper dinner?"

"Yeah, you know, fancy restaurant, nice food, um… romantic setting," America tried so hard not to blush or do anything embarrassing. He did not know why he was so nervous. It was only dinner. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No. No, it's… lovely," England said. "I'm just surprised that you can be so…"

"What, gentlemanly?" America smirked.

"You might say that, yes," England smiled back. "It's good to know that you still have some good manners in you. It seems some of my lessons still stay with you."

"A lot of your lessons still stay with me," America said with a naughty smirk. "For instance, those lessons about how to please your lover in bed."

"America!" England exclaimed. Then he promptly blushed and glanced around, as if afraid that people might overhear them. "Don't say such vulgar things. Honestly, you."

America only laughed. It was somewhat pleasing to see England blushing like that. It was his common ground and the sight made him feel more at ease. With his anxiety already lessened a great deal, he eyed the menu.

"So, how about we go order something? I'm kinda starving here."

A new waiter appeared at their table, one of those waiters that looked so calm and collected that America always thought they had no emotion. But somehow England preferred that type of waiters, always telling him that those people 'knew their manners and position'.

"Would you gentleman care for some wine?" the waiter asked. And even though England often criticized him for his manner, America still had enough common sense to know that it would surely be deemed improper if he asked for a club soda.

"I will leave the matter to him," America gestured to England. Upon hearing that, England gave him a questioning smile.

"Are you sure?" England asked.

America smiled. "Absolutely. Tonight is all about you. You can decide our meals too, even dessert."

Truthfully, it was not like him to give up the decision to others, but America thought that night was special. And he knew how England loved to be the one in charge sometimes. It was his way of being sweet. After all, Italy had insisted very strongly how important it was for him to be 'sweet' toward the one whom he was supposed to propose.

America smiled in satisfaction as he watched England conversing with the waiter about their choice of cuisine for the night. It was fun talking with Italy. The nation could appear so clueless at times but he knew things about romancing people. And better yet, Italy was indeed clueless that he did not doubt America even a bit when he told him that 'it was not for me, of course, I only want to help my friend who is going to… uh, ask his lover to marry him!'

Yes, it was perfect. And America would make sure that everything would stay perfect until the end. He was careful about his manner during dinner. He made sure to entertain England with some light conversation about their daily life—England seemed to love talking about their daily life so much; America blamed the soap operas. He kept his advances on England fleeting but intimate, a brief touch on his wrist, a gentle caress on his neck under the pretense of 'your collar is crooked', a nudge on his ankle by his booted leg, and all his effort rewarded him with the sight of England's flustered face.

Sure, England blamed the wine, but America knew better.

"So," England said when they were already in the middle of eating their dessert. "May I know, _now_, what is the _real_ reason for this dinner?"

"Why do you think there's a reason for this dinner?" America asked.

"Oh, come on, America," England said. "You asked me out to a nice and proper restaurant. We have course meals. You even let me choose the wine. You're acting all nice and courteous. It's sweet of you. It's so… oh, I never thought there would be a day when I would find myself using this word to describe something you do, it's so romantic."

America nearly pouted but he resisted the temptation, a feat that should reward him some medal or something in his opinion.

"Can't I be nice and courteous sometimes?" he asked. "Why is it that people always told me that I know nothing about romance?"

America saw a slow smile spreading across England's lips.

"So that's it?" England asked. "Somebody told you that you knew nothing about romance and you try to prove them wrong, don't you boy? Who's this 'somebody', I wonder… France, perhaps?"

America opened his mouth then closed it again in defiance, refusing to answer.

"France, it is," England sighed. "I don't know if I should thank him or if I should curse him for making you think like that. But honestly, America, usually you wouldn't be so concerned over that frog's words. What makes now different?"

America took a deep breath. He could already sense that it was finally the right time for him to reveal everything to England. He reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve the velvet box. The feeling of that box within his palm calmed him, and he somehow knew he would do alright.

"England," he began. "There is something that I want to tell you. I…"

Suddenly, the lights inside the restaurant dimmed considerably. America promptly grew alert. His eyes narrowed, trying to see better in the darkness and his mind jumbled from so many possible reason behind the sudden change of lighting. Some terrorist activity, his mind came up with the idea, or some anti government movement, or… anything, but definitely something bad. He knew it.

And he was not paranoid, he was merely cautious.

He was about to go to England's side to protect him better should the need arise. But before he could even rise from his seat, a voice cut through the darkness.

"May I have your attention, please," a man voice was heard. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am terribly sorry for disrupting your moment. I assure you that there is a reason for the sudden darkness and I assure you that it is not something bad."

Soft light begun to envelope the room, enough so that America could see a man, aged perhaps around thirty, stood a few table away from him. The man looked nervous and America nearly yelled at him to just go on with whatever it was he was planning because he still had a fucking proposal to make. Honestly!

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight I would like to ask you to be my witnesses as I do something that I think I should have done a long time ago, but it's better late than never," the man continued and America was tempted to yell at him 'no, never is better!'.

"This lady here," that same man continued, gesturing to a woman who sat on the same table with him. He seemed to be oblivious to America's murderous glare, but perhaps it was simply the fault of the dim light. "A very beautiful lady, I think you would agree. And to this lady tonight I gather up all my courage to ask her this simple question with God and all of you present here be my witness. Jane, would you marry me?"

America was sure he shouted a disbelief 'what?!' but it seems his voice was swallowed by the people clapping and murmuring and laughing merrily. He could not believe it. How could he, America, get his moment stolen by some… thirty something guy whom he never met before? He was supposed to do the proposing thing that night. How could he propose to England after that guy… it would seem really ridiculous and… and he hated it!

He did not care what answer the woman gave. He surely did not join people in their happiness for the couple. He could only watch in some strange mix of annoyance and envy as the people began congratulating the new couple, telling each other how romantic it was, how brave the guy was, how lucky the lady was. It was annoying, America thought darkly.

"America," England called him softly, making him somewhat tear his gaze away from the couple. He faced England, then, and saw a strange expression on the other's face. "Let's go, okay?"

He was so thankful for England to make that suggestion. Together they made their exit and America made sure to see some other way when they passed the still-laughing couple. His mood was still not at its best even when he reached the parking lot and he kind of hated himself for it. He wanted to give England a wonderful dinner date and yet there he was, sulking like some loser who just had someone got the better of him.

(To be fair, someone had just robbed him off of his timing but he was not a loser so such behavior was unbefitting).

America tried to grin when he turned his face to stare into England's eyes. "So, want me to drive you back to your hotel or did you bring your own car here?"

"No, I did not bring my own car," England answered. "And, no, I don't want you to drive me back to my hotel."

Something in America's heart sank when he heard that though he could not really understand why. He gulped. "Oh, um… you want me to hail you a taxi or something?"

England's laughter rang clear in the night. "No, you git. I'll go to your place with you."

America could not help it, he actually halted his steps. He blinked, unbelieving, and he saw that England was also stopping. The two of them stood there on the silent parking lot, face to face, and he asked, "You're going to stay the night?"

"And the day after. My flight back is scheduled for tomorrow evening and I've clear my schedule so I can have some free time tomorrow," England said calmly. His expression was serene and America could see the affectionate glint in his eyes. "And I think I haven't said this yet. Thank you for the dinner, America."

America bit his lip before he replied. "It should have been more awesome. Tonight…tonight is supposed to be all about you but some guy just have to ruin it."

"You can hardly blame someone for proposing their lover," England said. Then he closed the little distance that still separated them to set his lips firmly over America's, who was only more than glad to receive the kiss.

It was quite several minutes before they finally broke the kiss. And when America saw England's face, so majestic, so loving, so passionate, he drew a sharp breath. England's hand rose up and caressed his cheek; his touches felt as soft as cotton and as bold as fire on his skin.

"Let me thank you for this lovely evening," England whispered with his voice full of promise.

He embraced England there and then, uncaring if people might see them. Burying his nose to England's hair, smelling the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon that strangely always followed England anywhere, dropping several revered kisses on every part of England that his lips could reach, America felt that it was really a blessing to have England, his England, in his arms.

He could _almost_ forgive the man for disrupting his plan of proposal. Almost!

**End Chapter 4**

(**A/N:** And so we bring you the fourth chapter, we hope you enjoy it. Thank you for staying with us throughout this ride, hope no one of you is victim of cavities as of yet. Like always, reviews would be very much appreciated and e could never show our appreciation enough to all of you who have reviewed, faved, or alerted this fic. That really means a lot to us.)


	5. Chapter 5

*******

**Title**: When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author**: DnKS – giRLs

**Rating**: PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)**: America and England

**Disclaimers**: The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning**: General sap

**Note**: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 5**

America watched the plane leaving the airport with something heavy settling in his heart. He knew he was acting somewhat like a lovesick teenager, but he could not help it. That plane brought England away from him so it should be justified why he felt so desolate watching it leaving his airport. Who knew when they could see each other again? Who knew when he could finally ask that simple question of 'would you marry me' to England? Who knew when he could put that particular ring to England's finger?

He grumbled as he walked to the airport's exit. He really did behave like a lovesick teenager, and it was so not cool. He blamed fate and the universe for his behavior, though. Having his two attempts ruined magnificently left him being cranky as hell. To top it with the fact that England had just left him only made it worse. And it was even raining outside! Just great. Perfect, even!

Watching the rain fall heavily, he found no desire in him to go back to his house. Why, he would only spend his time moping and feeling miserable. It was the most unbefitting thing for a hero to do. He needed to do something to raise his spirit, something fun, something that could boost his ego up, something that would make him awesome again.

A smirk slowly appeared on America's face. He had found an idea, a very nice idea. With his smirk still intact, he turned his body and walked back inside the airport building. A few hours afterward he was already seated on a business seat in a flight to Canada. And give or take several other hours, he already arrived at Canada's front porch, banging his fist against the door.

It was really fun to have a brother. And the fun was only doubled when the 'brother' in question was someone like Canada.

The door opened and Canada's face peeked from inside. America could practically see the slight flinch that his dear brother had the moment he saw his face. He merely grinned and forced the door to open wider. Without waiting for permission, he entered Canada's house. After all, it was not like Canada could ever deny him entry anyway.

"America," Canada greeted. "What… um, why are you here?"

America dumped his body onto Canada's plush couch. For a moment he merely enjoyed the warmth and softness that the couch provided him but then he remembered that Canada was asking something. He so often forgot things when it concerned Canada, it seemed.

"Huh? Oh, I was bored," he said. "So I think of crashing your place. Not with bomb, of course."

He heard the sound of door being closed followed by a soft sigh. He could feel Canada approaching him before he, too, sat on the couch.

"Where's your bear?" he asked curiously. It was not usual occurrence for Canada to go anywhere without his bear, that Kumagoro or Kumashiro or whatever his name was.

"Sleeping," Canada said. He looked apprehensive. "Um, so you're coming here because…"

"…I was bored," America finished Canada's sentence. "It's raining at my place and it sucks after England leaving and I'm in a bad mood. Oh, hey, you have some coffee or something? I'm freezing. Seriously it's only October but it's already this cold? Why is your climate so awful?"

"Why are you even here if you hate my climate so much?" Canada said petulantly. But he still walked to the kitchen and made America a nice cup of hot coffee. He even added some chocolate chip cookies on a bone white china plate and brought it along with two cups of coffee to his guest room.

Really, America thought as he took his cup from Canada, having a brother like Canada was fun.

"I hope that you would find some other place to sulk next time," Canada said. He sat on America's side and nibbled on a cookie. "You always crashed mine when you're feeling down."

"Awh, but we're brothers. And you surely enjoy having someone as awesome as me around. It could make you more… awesome!" America grinned. "And I don't always come to your place."

Canada rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Yup, sometimes I bother England," America said.

"Why don't you bother him now instead?" Canada said with his tone a bit sharper than normal. America frowned. For a first, it was a bit unsettling to hear Canada using that kind of tone. His brother surely spent his time too much with that Prussia guy lately. And second, he did not like it that Canada reminded him of England. When he thought of England, he remembered their ruined dinner, he remembered that stupid old tree, he remembered his two failed attempt at proposing.

He cursed lightly under his breath. It was supposed to go unnoticed but Canada's frown let him know that his brother heard the words.

"You're fighting with England again?" he asked.

"No," America said. "No, we're not."

Canada stared at him disbelievingly. "Okay…"

America frowned, "You don't seem to believe me."

"It doesn't matter, eh, whether I believe you or not," Canada said. "Are you going to stay the night?"

America was about to answer when he felt something sharp jabbing at his hipbone. Curious, he reached his hand under the many pillows that decorated Canada's couch and his hand found a rectangular item. He brought the strange object closer to his face to have a better look. The item in question turned out to be a small book with soft pink cover.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's a book, of course," Canada said. "Surely you've seen one before."

America gave Canada his disapproving glare. It was not fun to hear sarcasm coming from Canada's lips, moreover if said sarcasm was directed at him.

"You know, I think you hang out too much with that Prussia guy lately, you start to speak like him," he said. Canada only shrugged at that, giving no verbal response whatsoever to America's accusation and somehow that irritated him more. In his attempt to move his mind to other thing, he observed the book more closely and his eyes widened.

"Canada… this is a chicklit."

"Yes, so?" Canada said but America could see a hint of embarrassment on his brother's voice and expression.

"Why are you reading this crap?" he asked. He knew that Canada could be so… in tune with his feminine side sometimes, but he never knew that he could be _that much_ in tune with it. Then again, England never missed even one episode of Coronation Street so perhaps he should not be so surprised if Canada grew up with similar taste to his guardian.

"It's not crap," Canada said, defending his choice of reading material.

"Sure it's crap. It's a love story full with cliché sap," America insisted. "See, they even rhyme: crap and sap."

"It's romance, not sap," Canada said adamantly. "You're just too… unromantic to understand it."

Oh wow, America thought, ouch. It was annoying when France told him that he did not understand romance a few weeks back. But to have Canada told the same thing to him simply hurt. How could the fact that he did not really enjoy those cheap romance novels be used to judge that he had no romantic side in him?

"I'm romantic enough," he said.

Canada sighed, "America, your idea of romance is something like having a date in a fast food restaurant or spending your weekend with your significant other playing video game or a brilliant sex."

And with that, America felt a really authentic feeling of déjà-vu. He frowned at his brother, not enjoying being told the same thing within the span of three weeks from two different people. Clearly, Prussia was not the only one who had influenced Canada way too much. That wine bastard should be blamed too, America thought and then cringed. It was uncanny when he sounded like England.

"Damn France," he said.

"What's France got to do with this?" Canada asked.

"Everything," America said with a pout. He gave the book another critical gaze and read the synopsis printed on the back cover, "What's this? 'Their love became one on the bank of that silent river'?"

Canada blinked. "Oh, that's the wedding proposal scene."

America gave his patented 'are-you-kidding-me' look to his brother. "A wedding proposal on the bank of a river? And you think this story is romantic?"

"But it is romantic," Canada said. "You know… to have a simple date, walking together with your lover, talking heart-to-heart about trivial things. Then silently he would take your hand and kissed you, telling you how beautiful you look. And then he would ask to marry you! Oh… that's so…"

Canada stopped his monologue abruptly before his face turned an interesting pink shade. It was really fascinating. America never knew before that Canada could be so passionate over such a cheesy story. It was somewhat cute.

"You… think it's romantic," America stated. It was not a question, simply a statement though it was spoken in wonder.

"Well, people's idea of romantic varies from one person to another," Canada said defensively, "I don't really like noisy place, or extravagant date, but… yes, walking together along the river and talk about things seems fun. And I think it's really a sweet proposal scene."

"Oh…" America said. His mind was busy thinking as he watched Canada, his brother. "Say, do you think that England would also like that kind of thing?"

A moment of poignant silence reigned before Canada's gaze rested fully on America. There was a hint of curiosity in Canada's gaze, and he looked somewhat amused, so amused in fact until there was a small smirk appearing on his lips. That smirk did not settle well with America. No, it definitely did not settle well with him.

"America…" Canada said carefully. "Are you perhaps trying to say that you want to propose to England?"

America's eyes widened and without much thinking, he shouted, "No!"

Canada's smirk grew wider. "You do want to propose to him!"

"And France affected you way too much," America grumbled. "Seriously, just… oh, you are my brother, right, so at least I can ask you to… just don't tell England, okay?"

"Of course I won't tell him, it's not in my dispensation to do so," Canada said, seemed a bit affronted at the thought that America might view him as someone cruel enough to do just that. "So… you're going to propose, eh?"

"Yes. No. Yes, but I don' want to talk about it," he said. Then with a sigh he raked his hand through his hair. "Just… it's England! And it's hard, damn hard. I just… God, I don't know how to do this right, to make it right. I wish I could just go to him and say 'hey, I love you, let's get married'."

Canada gave him a disapproving look. "I don't think it's…"

"Yes! Yes, I know that a simple 'I love you' wouldn't do. A proposal should be romantic. It should be memorable. It should be awesome. Well, fuck!" America swore loudly. "I tried, okay? But damn fate always tried to mess up with me, what's with that broken tree or that stupid guy proposing in front of us. Ha! I should have arrested him for committing a crime against the State!"

He fell to silence after he finished his tirade. It felt somewhat nice to let it all out like that yet at the same time it made him feel so pathetic. How would his boss react if he saw him, America thought, bitching about fate and his failed proposal in Canada's guest room with a pink chicklit novel on his lap? He surely did not look like the world's leading superpower then.

A touch landed on his thigh, making America turn his face slightly to see Canada's gently smiling face. His brother was giving that calm look to him, the look that somehow was so similar to the one that England always had on his face whenever he was trying to calm America if he was troubled by his nightmares.

"Canada…?" he asked.

"You'll do well… uh, next time," Canada said with such a certain tone in his voice. "Perhaps… perhaps you should just try to have some private time with him, you know… like what I say, walking together, talking about trivial things."

America stared at Canada, half amused half surprised, "Is my brother trying to be a love counselor now? Damn, Canada, I actually only half joked when I said how France had influenced you way too much, but I'm not so sure now. Just be sure not to go around groping some stranger's ass, okay?"

Canada only snorted and shoved the pink book into America's hands. "You can borrow this book for now. I've already finished it."

America stared at the book, that particular pink covered chicklit novel. He still thought it was crap. He still thought that it was not as awesome as his comic books. But he did not reject when Canada put it to his hands. And he did not try to refuse when Canada prepared his guest room for him.

He spent that night in Canada's guest room, reading that book, and internally he laughed. He came to Canada's place to get rid of his feeling of being a lovesick teenager but there he was, reading a cheap romance novel, and enjoyed it very much. But perhaps, America thought as he flipped a page in that book, it was not so bad to act like a lovesick teenager sometimes, as long as he still managed to be an _awesome_ lovesick teenager.

**End Chapter 5**

(**A/N:** So, this is the fifth chapter. Considering this fic will end at the seventh chapter, do you think America will _finally_ succeed this time? Please let us know your review on this fic. And thank you for joining us in this ride—reading until this far.)


	6. Chapter 6

*******

**Title** : When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author** : DnKS – giRLs

**Rating ** : PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)** : America and England

**Disclaimers** : The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning** : General sap

**Note **: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 6**

When America showed up on England's doorstep with a bunch of calla lilies in his hands, he could gather from England's expression that he was surprised. And when he told him that he wanted to ask him out for a nice walk along some riverbank, he knew that England was confused at best. But England still admitted him into his house and let him have some drink when he placed those flowers into a clear vase.

"A walk on the riverbank?" England asked. "You never struck me as someone who enjoys such activity."

"Hm? Oh, I just visited Canada and somehow I, I mean he gave me this idea of having some private time to talk, just you and me," America said, dumping his body to England's couch. "We don't spend time with each other that much lately and… yeah, I think there are many things we can talk about."

England seemed to ponder the notion for a moment before he smiled slightly. "That actually sounds nice."

"Right?!" America exclaimed happily. "So, what are we waiting for?"

England's head turned sharply to stare at him. "What? You mean now?"

"Of course I mean now," America said. He stood to approach England and took his hand, intent on dragging him out of his house to some riverbank which would hopefully be the site for his wedding proposal.

"But… America," England said, yanking his hand free from his hold. "It's nearly evening."

"Perfect, then we can see the sunset over Britannia," America said, chuckling at his own joke. "Then I can prove you wrong by showing you that the sun does set too at your place."

"Oh, shut up, you… hey," England half tried to resist as America held his hand again. "At least let me take my coat, it's a bit cold outside."

And so it took perhaps another half of hour of England putting his coat on, inspecting his appearance on the mirror, tsk-ing before he shed his coat off to put another coat on, then proceeded to meticulously check his house to make sure that nothing would go amiss while he was away (all the while America was bouncing on his heels and told England to just hurry up) before they were out of the house. Truth be told, America was not really sure where he could find a river near England's house. But it seemed England had already taken care of that matter, and America only needed to follow him as his companion steered their steps to some nondescript park.

"I don't think there's any river near my place," England explained as they walked to some pathway trailing into that park. "This place is nice and quiet, though…"

America looked around, observing their surrounding. The park was spacious enough with some trees and occasional benches. It indeed looked nice and quiet.

"Nice," he said. "What's this place?"

England coughed discreetly. "Our local lover's lane."

America's laughter came unbidden. "What? Oh, lovely. So we're walking on a lover's lane. Should I hold your hand?"

England merely grumbled but America took it as his agreement. Promptly, he took hold of England's hand, dropping a chaste kiss to his cheek during the process. And England did not slap his hand away. Neither did he try to reject the kiss. Usually England tended to be so much more reserved when they were in public but, America thought as he looked around them, it was not they were actually in public then. The park was silent and for everything he knew, it was possible they were the only two people in the park that time.

Somehow he began to see the virtue in the whole 'having-some-private-time-together' thing.

"So," England said. "What is it that you want to talk about?"

America blinked. "Eh?"

"You said you wanted to talk about 'everything'," England reminded him.

"Oh. Um…" America said. Unconsciously he tightened his hold on England's hand. "Can't I just… want to spend time with you?"

There seemed to be something shifting on England's face and America nearly thought that he had somehow made a mistake by saying those words. But then England smiled and turned his face slightly so they could see straight into each other's eyes. Those eyes, America thought, could always take his breath away. When he saw those eyes staring so fixedly at him, he felt very tempted to hold his breath due to the intensity of that gaze. He did not realize when they had stopped walking but there they were, standing so very close to each other, neither moved nor talked, merely staring at each other.

Seconds passed, and England's hands reached to his shoulders. Another second passed and England's lips met his. But it needed more than a mere minute before those lips ended the kiss.

America blinked in surprise and happiness after England relinquished his lips.

"Wow," he said absent mindedly.

"I take it that you enjoy that," England said with a smirk.

"Enjoy it? England, it's…" America tried to find a word sufficient to describe what he felt, but he could find none. "…wow. But, why?"

England tilted his face slightly, "Can't I just want to kiss you?"

America stared at England. His face must have looked so surprised because England chuckled at him.

"Do you remember when you were little," England said. His eyes had that glint of melancholy that seemed to appear whenever he recalled the time long past. "You would sometimes go to my study, disturbing my work because you 'just want to spend time with England'. And how you would sometimes hug my waist because you 'just want to hug England'."

America smiled. He held England's waist in a loose embrace and continued his sentence. "And I would also sometimes kiss your cheek because I just want to kiss England."

England let out another chuckle. "Yes. You often did that."

"But now, when I say I want to spend time with you, you realize that I mean so much more than what I have meant back then," America said wistfully. "And now, when I say I want to kiss you, I also mean so much more than what I have meant back then."

He swiped some hair from England's eyes. It was a cheesy move, a very cliché one, America knew. But it felt so fitting for the scene.

"I love you, England," he said and he meant every word of it.

England leaned to his touch, almost unconsciously it seemed. "You're becoming so much like a leading male character from a cheap paperback romance novel suddenly."

America had to snort at that. "I just read Canada's chicklit novel," he admitted.

England also gave a snort at hearing that particular information. "No wonder."

"So, am I doing well at becoming a cheap romance novel character?" America asked with a grin.

"As good as how you are at being a hero," England said.

America's grin only grew wider, "I'm doing awesome, then! Aw, thank you, England."

"That wasn't meant to be a compliment, you idiot," England said affectionately before he ruffled America's hair. "It's just… somehow I felt so happy when you said that just now. You've grown to be so big after all these years but there are still things that remain unchanged in you."

"Things that remains unchanged, eh?" America said mischievously.

"Like the fact that you are still an irrational brat," England said. "And that you still do things as you please. And that you still want to simply spend time with me…"

America smiled knowingly. "And the fact that I still love you?"

England laughed. "Yes. Okay, that too."

There was perhaps no heralding sound of bells. There was neither fancy sound nor visual effect, but America knew it was the perfect moment for him to finally tell his _real_ reason why he asked England out that time. Keeping his smile intact, America reached inside his coat pocket to retrieve the box of the ring.

But it happened that the box was nowhere inside his pocket.

He could feel his smile slipping away from his face. Frantically, he began searching though his pocket more thoroughly. And when that yielded him no result, he began searching though all his pockets. He could not believe it. He was sure he had brought the box with him when he left his hotel room. Or had he?

"America?" England asked cautiously. "What's wrong?"

"I lost my… thing," America answered. "Dammit, where is it?"

"What thing? Perhaps I can help you searching for it?" England offered, but America was far from reassured hearing that offer.

"No! No, you can't! I mean… no, you don't have to," he stammered. "Okay… okay, I think perhaps I left it in your house."

"Well, then let's search for it," England said. "You seem to be so distressed, is it an important item for you?"

"Yes. But you can't join me searching for it," America said so agitatedly that he literally flapped his hands around. "It's… it's supposed to be given to you. Uh, I intend to give it to you so you can't see it."

England looked at him strangely. "America, that's ridiculous. If you want to give it, whatever it is, to me, how can I not see it?"

"But it's supposed to be a surprise!" America said as he raked his hand through his hair in frustration. How ridiculous, he thought. How could he even forget the ring? It was an important instrument for the whole proposing thing. How could a hero like him forget an important device like that?

"Listen, England, how about I go to your house and search for it?" he proposed. "I mean, please. I really, really need to find it."

England gave a resigned sigh. "Fine, let's head back."

"Yeah… whoa, hold on," America said, eyes went wide as England tugged on his hand and led them to walk back to his house. "You don't have to come with me! I can search for it myself."

"And what? You want me to wait here alone as you take your time searching for that whatever item? I don't think so," England said. "I don't really fancy the idea of standing alone in cold air, thank you very much."

"But…" America tried to speak but England seemed not wanting to hear him out. England's hold on his hand was firm and it seemed there was nothing that could stop him from walking with America to his house. And under such determination—for England, the fucking British Empire, did fall into a wholly different league on his own for his determination—America could only comply.

Yet still, he would never comply with the idea of England joining him in searching for that particular velvet box.

When they reached England's house, he very insistently talked England into waiting for him on his guest room and not, by any means, trying to join him in his search. He thought that perhaps England only agreed to it to humor him. But as long as England could stay still while he was searching for that damned ring, he was satisfied, even if England did look at him like he was a lunatic.

He wasted no time before he began his thorough search in England's house. He upturned the tablecloths, tried to look behind every nook and crannies, he took off his coat and jacket and shook them, watching if perhaps that box would magically fall from some previously unseen inner pocket. He even looked inside the vase among the stalks of calla lilies that he had brought for England, thinking if perhaps he kinda misplaced his ring there amidst the flowers. But so far his effort came to no avail.

America was so very tempted to swear. If he could not find the box in England's house, that would mean that perhaps he left it in his hotel room. That would mean he had to drive back to his hotel to retrieve it. That would mean he had to do the whole proposing thing from the start again. Why was fate so cruel to him?

"America," England's voice coming from the guest room. "You sound more like trying to destroy my house from here. What is it exactly you're searching for?"

"I promise I'll tidy up afterward," America called back. "I just need to find that damn box first…"

"A box?" England asked. And before America could say 'shit', England already continued. "A box like some small blue velvet box?"

America actually stopped for a heartbeat during his search. He frowned.

"You know, England, I sometimes think you're some kind of a mind reader. What's with your uncanny guessing ability," he said. "Um, yeah, a box like that. Though it's the content that's important."

"I'm not a mind reader, idiot, it just happens that the box is lying on this couch next to me," England said casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "The content is important, you say, I wonder what it is…"

America's eyes widened. Did England just say that the box was on the couch beside him, he thought frantically before he bolted out of England's kitchen. He thought he screamed out things like 'no, England, wait, don't open it!' as he ran to England's guest room. But when he arrived there, it was all too late.

He arrived to the guest room to a scene of England sitting on his couch, an opened blue velvet box in his hands, with his gaze riveted to a five carat diamond ring held within said box. England's eyes blinked almost reverently as he observed the ring. Then slowly, those eyes shifted their gaze until they look straight at America.

"This ring…" England said. "This ring is for me?"

And America was standing there, feeling like an idiot as he realized that all his plan of romantic proposal was blown up. He gulped. Fate really did hate him, it seemed. But he was a hero and a hero should be able to save the situation no matter what no matter where. So he took a breath and straightened up his pose.

"I love you, England," he said as he kept holding England's gaze with his own. "Will you marry me?"

**End Chapter 6**

(**A/N: **So, another chapter to go and this story will end. Are you still with us in the ride? How many of you have already scheduled an appointment with your dentists to deal with your cavities? :D Thank you for joining us, reading and even reviewing this story. Sorry that we cannot reply to your comment individually since it's been a hectic week. But know that your reviews really mean a lot to us and we really appreciate it.)


	7. Chapter 7

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**Title** : When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author** : DnKS – giRLs

**Rating ** : PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)** : America and England

**Disclaimers** : The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning** : General sap

**Note **: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Chapter 7**

There were perhaps several moments in America's life that he remembered as his awkward and embarrassing moments. One of those moments was that one time when he was little and wet his pants when he was in church with England. Another one of those moments was that one time when he accidentally entered France's room and was treated to the sight that he preferred never to speak about, thank-you-very-much. Another instance of such moments was that time when his old boss happened to see his 2D porn collection in his laptop.

But never before in America's life did he feel as embarrassed, as nervous, and as awkward as what he felt that time when he was standing somewhat dumbly in England's guest room. And England did not help the matter even a bit. Why, with the way he stared at America, the way he still held that box of ring in his hands, the way his mouth seemed unable to form any word, America thought that England only made the matter worse.

He shifted his weight from one foot to another and his movement seemed to break England from whatever haze he was currently having. America was suspiciously pleased to note that there was slight flush on England's cheeks when he coughed discreetly.

"Why… don't you sit down, America?" England said calmly.

It was almost enviable that England could sound so calm. America was sure he would never make it past stuttering if he were to speak that time. So without any word, he sat on England's side, waiting for him to continue. After all, he reminded himself, England had not yet given him his answer.

"Yes, it's better," England said as he watched America sitting down. Then, turning his gaze to the diamond ring he still had within his palms, he said, "It's a very nice ring."

America found his gaze drifted to the ring before he raised his eyes to stare at England's face. "You like it?"

"Yes…" England admitted softly. "Yes, I like it very much."

"Then you should wear it. It's for you," he said.

England sighed and he shook his head. There was a look of resignation on his face and the smile he gave America looked so pained it clenched around his heart.

"I can't," England said. "I can't, America."

The clenching feeling around his heart intensified as America listened to those words coming from England's lips. He could feel despair enveloping him, fear, denial. England could not have said that, he thought. England could not have rejected him. But why did England look so sad? Why did England look so heartbroken? Why did England look so…

"Why?" he asked before he could think. "Why, England? I… love you, and I know I've done bad things but I can do better now and so… why?"

England snapped shut that little box before he took America's palm to put the box there. He gently cradled America's hand and together they held that little blue velvet box. Together they held that ring.

"You have become so big, America," England said, the second time that evening. "You are a great nation and I know you can do even better in the future. I trust you. But I cannot trust you enough… to relinquish my government… my very identity… to join you… I cannot."

America blinked rapidly. He began to understand then why England looked so despondent.

"Wait," he said. "Wait, England, you misunderstood. When I said… when I asked you to marry me, I didn't mean that kind of marriage. I did not propose a political union or some kind of America-Britain unification."

Confusion was written clearly on England's face when he frowned at him after hearing that. "But… then what are you…"

America bit his lip. Somehow his heart decided it would be fun to work harder, and thus he could feel how wildly his heart was beating in his chest. It was with a supreme act of willpower that he could move the box of ring from their joined hands to the top of the table without any hint of tremble. It was with the same act of willpower that he could afterward hold both of England's hand in his and look at him with a smile that neither twitched nor showed how nervous he was.

"England. Listen, I love you, and I know you know that," he said. "We've been together for… what, centuries already and I know that I would never want anyone else to spend my life with. Isn't it normal to tie the knot when you're already together for centuries? Well, even though normally people wouldn't wait until their some hundredth anniversary to propose."

He could see comprehension began dawning on England's face, and with no little amount of relief he realized that England did not try to get his hands free from his hold.

"America," England began. "I… am flattered, really, I am. But we are not common people. We are nations and nations cannot marry, at least not in the way you are trying to propose."

"I know," he said. "I mean, I won't expect some ceremony in church or something. I just want to… I don't know how to explain it. I just want to bring this thing between us up to another level, you know, to make it so that I can proudly tell myself that I'm yours and you're mine, to… tell me… and you that our relationship is… special!"

England let out a brief chuckle. "I think the term 'special relationship' has been used to define our bond for decades already."

"But it's different," he said. He started to get a tad frustrated trying to explain his intention. Why was he always no good dealing with words, America thought. "Yes, we have a special relationship. Yes, our diplomatic connection is great. But don't you see, England, it's not about us. Our _nations_ are the one with the special relationship. Our _nations_ are the ones with that great diplomatic connection."

He paused to take a breath, glad that England was still listening to him intently.

"I know that you would say that we are indeed nations, that our relationship is also our nations' relationship. But I don't want that," he continued. "I want to marry you, not as the United States of America proposing a union with the British Empire. But I want to marry you as _Alfred F. Jones_ wanting to spend eternity with his beloved _Arthur Kirkland_! I want to have this bond with you so that even if our nations suddenly decided to go against each other, if our diplomatic relation suddenly goes sour, if… if my boss suddenly decides to cut all ties with your nation, I would still have the right to be with you, to love you, to call you mine."

He stopped speaking afterward. Truthfully, he could not word it any better than that even if he tried. But did England get what he meant, America wondered. Did England understand his reason? But the main question was, _would_ England say yes to him now that finally he finished explaining his reason?

He waited for what seemed to be forever before England opened his mouth again.

"America… no, _Alfred_," England said. "You do realize that my official name is not exactly British Empire but The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, don't you?"

America opened his mouth but found that he simply could not form any response to England's words. He was torn between feeling affronted and amused but mainly he was confused. He was still confused when England laughed. And for sure the confusion still persisted when England suddenly closed the distance between them and kissed him squarely on his lips.

"You foolish child," England said, though he was smiling, "You foolish, foolish child…"

America blinked in confusion. He could not decide if England's action meant that he accepted his proposal or not. He could not decide if, as England ruffled his hair gently, England was amused or if he was angry at him.

"You just surprised me, that's all," England said. "You can be so sweet sometimes, even though… well, yes, the way you proposed was really… beyond words…"

America cringed. "I'm… uh, what I mean is, sorry. I tried to… make an awesome proposal, I know it should be memorable and all that but… I think I have no luck in this department. What's with that tree suddenly breaking or that stupid guy ruining our date with his proposal or that stupid box that suddenly disappeared from my pocket, I swear it's some kind of evil plot trying to sabotage my plan…"

He observed how England's brow furrowed when he listened to his rambling. He realized that perhaps he was saying too much so he promptly shut his mouth.

"What do you mean by 'the tree suddenly breaking'?" England asked in curiosity. "What tree? Oh… oh, for the love of Heaven, my tree? The one that you climbed in the middle of the night weeks back?"

He released a nervous laughter. "Er… yeah. That was my first attempt at asking you to marry me…"

"By blowing up my window?"

"I tried to serenade you some love song," America protested. Why did England seem so hung up over his whole window issue, anyway? "I wanted to make a romantic proposal and I know how you love that old Shakespeare guy so I tried to climb your balcony and all that."

"You tried to…" England said. "Then our dinner back then, were you also trying to…"

"Yes!" America cut England's sentence halfway. He knew it was impolite but he could not bear to listen to another mention of his failing attempts at proposing. "And before you ask it, yes, it's also why I asked you out for walk this afternoon. As you can see, all my attempts at proper proposal are ruined magnificently."

From his point of view, America could see a slow smirk appearing on England's face, and he became cautious. Now, he loved England. He loved him very much. But if England laughed at him, he was really, really tempted to get angry. Well, perhaps not angry, but he would be very annoyed for sure.

"You know why you always failed?" England asked. Then without waiting for America's response, he answered his question himself. "It's because neither of those things you mentioned is the proper way to propose to someone."

America frowned. "Huh?"

"In my place, proper proposal should be done with the one doing the proposing kneeling before his intended as he presents his ring," England said. "Old time customs, showing your devotion to your love. And I, for one, had decided that I would only give my yes to my suitors if they propose me 'properly'."

Their gazes met and suddenly, America understood the meaning behind that smirk that England had. He let out a clear laughter and grabbed the box of ring from the table.

"Shall we do it all over again?" he asked.

England regally waved his hand. "By all means."

Grinning, America fell on his knees before England on that carpeted floor of the guest room. The box of ring was clasped tightly in both hands.

"Arthur Kirkland."

"_Sir_ Arthur Kirkland," England corrected him.

"Fine. _Sir_ Arthur Kirkland," America smirked and England smirked back. He snapped the box open to show the ring inside. "Will you marry me?"

There was a pause, and America suspected that England purposely create that pause for some dramatic effect, before England said very resolutely, "Yes, Alfred F. Jones, I will."

What followed afterward was a series of kissing, laughing, murmured words of 'I love you', before they both were stumbling to the couch. But amidst the laughing and kissing and all that, America managed to slip the ring to England's finger. Finally, his mind whispered to him as he slid the ring. Finally, his heart sang to him as he kissed England afterward. _Finally_, he wanted to shout to the world as he stared at the sight of that particular ring around England's finger. He could feel his heart burst in happiness because _finally_ he managed to accomplish his intent.

"Now you are mine," he whispered on England's ear, telling him the thing that he kept repeating in his mind. England was his, forever his. And England, his England, laughed and kissed him and with a very sweet voice he whispered back to his ear.

"And now, you are also mine."

**End**

(**A/N: **So, this is the end for this fic. Thank you for following this fic until this far. Your reviews really mean a lot to us and we thank you for it. Hope no one actually suffers much because of the sap *cough*cavities*cough*. And lastly… uh, yeah… there would be an epilogue, so please look forward to it, though we still have to finish it… ahaha…)


	8. Chapter 8

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**Title** : When a Simple 'I Love You' Just Cannot Do

**Author** : DnKS – giRLs

**Rating ** : PG13

**Character(s)/Pairing(s)** : America and England

**Disclaimers** : The characters involved in this story do not belong to us, nor do they have any connection to real nation(s). No infringement intended.

**Warning** : Sap. Lots of sap. Done in a rush which might sound like a lame excuse, but... yeah...

**Note **: Written for leriko_rasen, posted for public under her permission.

*******

**Epilogue**

Throughout the centuries, America had attended his fair share of wedding ceremonies. Being the Unites States of America, the land of the free, the land where everyone from everywhere gather to gain their dreams, meant that he could witness so many varieties of wedding celebration from those many cultures of people living in his nation. There were those traditional Christian weddings held in churches—he had attended so many of them. There were also those Jewish weddings where a Rabbi would bless the couple under the huppah. There were weddings where the men and women should go to separate rooms and danced separated dances. There were weddings which happened in hospitals, in military bases, even via the phone. There were weddings which were held underwater, on airplanes, in so many places previously unimagined by people.

They had been awesome. But America knew that his own wedding celebration surpassed anything that he ever witnessed.

He had a big smile on his face as he viewed his surrounding, as he stared at the faces of his fellow nations who were gathered around that long white picnic table in his backyard. Should anyone see the scene, they would not be at first come to conclusion that it was supposed to be a wedding celebration. But in fact, it was. It was his wedding celebration. And for America, it was simply the most awesome celebration he had ever had.

"A toast!" Prussia's loud voice drowned all chatters, a glass of wine was held in his raised hand. "A toast for America and England."

All the people present there raised their glasses. America, too, raised his. And on his side, England followed his act. The diamond ring he always wore on his finger glinted brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

Their eyes met, and America could see the same extent of happiness being displayed in those eyes, on that face, in that smile. It was too much that he had to sneak a quick kiss before he drank his wine, prompting some catcalling from the others, but he simply dismissed that. It was his wedding day and he was allowed any amount of Public Display of Affection he wanted.

His wedding day, America thought fondly. It was his wedding day, their wedding day. While it was true that they could never stand on the altar to utter the vow, but that did not make it less true. He was married to England. And even though there was no bouquet of flowers, no sound of bells, not even a wedding cake, they were content enough with the arrangement they both had come with—to invite their fellow nations in a simple weekend picnic and announce their matrimony that way.

"I love you," he whispered to England after he ended the kiss. And England actually smiled at him. England did not berate him for being so improper in public. Neither did he give any resistance. Instead he smiled, and kissed back, and said, "I love you too."

There was a sound of chuckle from their audience and France's amused voice spoke up. "Lovely, real lovely, you two. But I'm getting a bit tired holding my glass up so can we please proceed to the toast?"

"Sod off, France," England said though his words lacked the usual bite. Despite his words, though, England raised his glass a bit higher and said, "Cheers."

All the people present followed him and they all drank their wine. It was perhaps their tenth glass or so but America paid them no mind. They could get drunk, they could have fun, they could do anything. It was, after all, a day to celebrate.

"I hope you didn't forget sending some of these wines to your boss," England said. "The least we can do is that, considering that he already declined our invitation."

"Sure thing," he grinned. "Though I think perhaps it's best that my boss, and yours, declined our invitation. Wedding celebration or not, I don't think it's really cool to show them this stuff."

America was saying 'this stuff' while he was gesturing with his thumb to the direction where Spain had begun climbing up the table to show others the 'correct' way to dance the flamenco when drunk. The corner of England's mouth twitched, either from annoyance or amusement America could not decide.

"Perhaps you're right," he said. "That thing aside, I'm glad that your boss did not give much fuss about this whole affair."

America only smiled wider. His boss was truly awesome. At first he was a bit afraid of what his boss might say when he told him that he intended to marry 'that guy from across the pond'. But not only was his boss totally okay with their relationship ("You mean you were not already married before? I thought the 'Special Relationship' was formed to indicate the bond between you."), he even allowed America a whole week free of work to conduct his wedding celebration. He did not know much about the situation with England and his boss, though, aside from what England had told him that his boss viewed their new status as 'just fine, as long as you manage not to confuse your domestic affair with your work'.

To sum it up, the whole thing went so smoothly that America felt really tempted to saw 'wow'. He somehow thought it was perhaps Fate's way to compromise with him after ruining his each and every attempt at awesome proposal.

"You think we should get some more drinks?" he asked England.

"I think we should get several empty buckets, instead, in case those drunken people decide it would be fun to empty their stomachs," England said with a roll of his eyes, watching and wincing as Denmark proceeded to drink some wine straight from the bottle. "I just hope Sweden and Finland are still sober enough to get Sealand away from any alcoholic beverage."

"Aw, don't fret too much about him," America said, hauling his body up and offered his hand to England. "Come on."

He easily pulled England to his feet once the other placed his hand in his. He did not release England's hand as they walked together to his kitchen, trying to find several more bottles of wine (a gift from France who had shipped a cargo of those bottles of vintage wine once he got the news of their wedding).

"We really need to tidy up after this," England said with a mild frown. He carefully made his way into the kitchen, avoiding several boxes still in their wrapper, lots of flowers, and various other things littered there.

"Yeah," America said, moving a set of electric cooking appliances aside so they could pass (wedding gift from Korea so that England would not burn the kitchen with his unsuccessful attempts at cooking anymore because, Korea had insisted, even an idiot would find no problem using them). "I don't really look forward to it."

"Hmm…" England hummed absently. His hand reached to a bunch of pink tulips that Netherlands had sent to their house. Or perhaps not really 'a bunch', since he sent thousands of them. "I still think it's a pity that these lovely flowers would wilt by next week."

"Oh, he already offered to plant those in our garden if we allow him to," America said. "But then I don't know which of our gardens he should work on. Think your mansion at York would look pretty with some redecorating?"

"Hm… no, I love that garden the way it is. Your house in Virginia perhaps?" England said.

"Nope. Not good for tulips," America said then he grinned. "Hey, what about buying another house?"

He only got a paper towel thrown at him as England's response. Chuckling, he took the paper towel and threw it back at England, who wore a scowl on his face as he said, "You're in recession, idiot. Don't go around spending your money for such unnecessary thing like that."

"Aw, but spending money for your loved one is excusable," America said. He watched in amusement as England had that certain hint of flush on his cheeks. One would think that after everything they did, after finally tying the knot, England would have already been way past his easily-flustered-state.

"You look really cute when you're blushing like that, you know," he mentioned.

England huffed. "It's the…"

"…wine, yes, whatever," America finished England's sentence easily. He opened his mouth, eager to argue England's obvious denial, but his eyes landed on a particular item that made any idea of arguing disappear from his mind.

Instead, he smirked.

"Say, England," he said. His eyes were still riveted to that particular item, which happened to be his old CD player, nearly hidden beneath all the flowers on top of his kitchen counter. "We haven't really got our wedding dance done, right?"

England gave him a questioning look. "What?"

America arranged himself to a position, offering his hand to England. For extra effect, he presented a flower to England in his outstretched hand and smiled. "Shall we dance?"

England blinked at him. "Dance?"

"Yes, England, dance," he said. Somehow he began speculating if the alcohol level in England's bloodstream was higher than what he initially predicted. It would explain his inability to form any response more than a word.

"Come on," he approached England with what he hoped as his most seductive smile on his lips. "Dance with me, England."

He stepped closer to England, taking his hand and kissed it. "Arthur…"

Placing his hand on England's waist and promptly drawing the other's body closer to his, he smirked. "My wife."

There was a strong kick landed on his shin and America winced, "Ouch!"

"Call me that again and I'll hex you, married or not," England said with narrowed eyes.

He only laughed and spun England around as some kind of warming up. "Switch that CD player on for me. We need music."

A click afterward, the soft melody of 'When I Fall in Love' as sung by Céline Dion and Clive Griffin filled the air. America snorted when he heard the first note but England merely groaned.

"Can't we change song?" England asked. "It's too cliché."

"Oh, but you love cliché," America countered as he began swaying with England to the music. "Your soap opera is enough proof."

"Oh, shut up."

"I intend to do that," America said. Stealing a quick kiss from England, he positioned them both and led them to their supposedly wedding dance.

It was their wedding dance, alright, albeit the fact that they had to be extra careful with their steps in that somewhat cramped kitchen room. America knew that it was neither something extravagant nor grand. The CD player was old, and so was the CD, so the sound quality was not really that good. The kitchen was cramped and often their feet would hit some stray box or the kitchen counter. It was no glorious ballroom where they danced that time; there was no chandelier, no fancy evening suit, and no red carpet under their feet. But there was England in front of him, in his arm. And America smiled as he took notice of that ring around England's finger.

"Not so bad for a wedding dance, right?" he asked.

England smirked, "For a wedding dance that goes in a kitchen overly cramped with things, yes, it's not so bad."

America looked around them as he spun England in a circle. He sighed when he looked at the mess in his kitchen. "Oh, man, it would be hell tidying up this mess."

"I'm more concerned about our guests, though," England said. "They would be totally useless when they're drunk. It would be a real hassle trying to see them reach their places safely."

He groaned. "And the leftover of today's picnic…"

"The pile of trash we could collect from the aftermath of today's party would be really high," England remarked. He rested his cheek on America's shoulder and mumbled. "But it's worth it."

America smiled. They had stopped their dance by then, and he chose to drag England further into his embrace. The song still played in the background and they could even hear some sounds of loud chatters mixed in with some laughter, courtesy of their friends, from the backyard of the house.

"Yes, it's worth it," he said. "Because… hey, it's our wedding day, right?"

"Hmm…" England mumbled. He looked up and regarded America with a slightly annoyed expression. "Even though we still have to deal with sorting these so many wedding gifts…"

"…and finding some place to store them," America continued. He was no less annoyed than England at the idea of sorting through their gifts. He appreciated their friends' well wishes, their supports, their gifts. But at the same moment, it was also frustrating to come to term with the fact that he practically had nearly no space to move inside his house because every surfaces in said house was being littered with so many boxes and things.

He had entertained the thought of asking the Secret Service to haul all those boxes and things to some currently-empty hangar or something to be sorted much later, actually.

"Perhaps we should just ship them off to some faraway island in the Pacific and sort them out later," America spoke his thought out loud.

"I wish we could also just ship our guests off," England said with a light frown. "God knows I hate dealing with drunken France"

"Hey, if he makes any attempt to grope you, you're allowed to kill him, you know," America said with a wide grin. "I give you permission."

England scoffed and lightly punched his arm, "Who are you to give me permission."

"Your loving and doting husband," he said and the kick on his leg that followed his words was more or less expected. "Ow. But… yeah, guess we still have to tidy up the house…"

"And the yard," England reminded him. "But after that…"

America knew England long enough and intimate enough to be able to discern that certain mischievous glint in his eyes. A small but brightly shining hint of fire in those green eyes. A smirk that was so seductive yet also so sweet. He knew England enough to understand the meaning behind that look, behind that smirk.

He smirked back. "But after that, we fuck?"

England's hands rose, capturing the back of his neck, pulling his face until he was able to kiss his lips. Then he whispered.

"After that we make love."

**End**

(**A/N:** This is the end of 'When a Simple I Love You Just Cannot Do'. We thank you all for following this fic up until the end. As always, we really appreciate it if you're so kind as to leave your comment on this fic. Hope to see you again some other time ^_^)


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